


Rusty Rhymes and Putrid Poems

by The Corellian Pirate (Turhaya_Hundteth)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Current Events, Dark Comedy, Love, Odin - Freeform, Original Fiction, Poetry, Prose Poem, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Relationship(s), Sex, Sexual Content, Social Commentary, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thor - Freeform, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turhaya_Hundteth/pseuds/The%20Corellian%20Pirate
Summary: A collection of original poetry. Adult themes. Language warning.Contents:- Life: Generation Gap, COVID Karens, Walk in the Dark, Altruism Dies.- Love: Tithing, The Hunger, Soul Lover- Light: Allfather, The Feast, Search Party of One, Donar in Repose
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Generation Gap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s get the painful poem out of the way first, shall we?...

The endless time of youthful stupidity.

Wasted.

Now, awkwardness and discomfort cloud it.

Back then, I couldn’t see outside my agony.

Hidden.

Now, you’re hidden in your isolated world.

The vast void, filled by a sea of lonely people.

Fucking virus.

Separation needles me like parental guilt.

Is this how you felt all those years?

Worried,

Thoughts caught in powerlessness and angst.

I am not the daughter you need, or deserve, or…

Want.

A fragile network of snarling teeth.

A savage, twisted, bleeding, feeding thing.

Broken,

Wrapped around a baby bird, in a windswept nest.

All you wanted was a little love.

To love.

The brat pushed the spoon away,

With a narcissistic, whining grimace.

Rejection.

The fussy child does not see the famine ahead.

Years of brutal, ceaseless, sleepless shit.

Neglect.

Caught helplessly in a cloud of suffering.

Who should reach pleadingly across the chasm?

Hesitance.

But in your inaction, you watched me suffocating.

You in your passiveness, me in my blind pain.

You saw.

Or you thought you saw. I saw horror more.

Silence swayed us all and had one reached out?

Escape.

Mercifully, it came of its own festering volition.

Despite it all, the pull is tidal.

Strong.

As different as we are, we are admittedly the same.

My own reflection causes regret to grip.

Seen.

All that is left is the expression of it all. In vain.


	2. Covid Karens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little ‘fuck you’ to anti-maskers who take the piss.

To the Karens of the world

I say - the data doesn’t lie!

It shows the face masks worn by surgeons,

Mean the patients don’t all die.

We’ve known for years it stops the germs,

A well-known, well-worn truth.

Your sneeze on the breeze will spread the disease.

We’ve got years of fucking proof.

Tell us again how your rights are right,

And why we should sing your song?

Because you’re contradicted by data.

Statistics say you’re wrong.

The worn and weary retailers

(In their private property rights)

Can refuse your stupid ass service,

For any old perceived slights.

They can kick you out of their shop

If they just don’t like your look.

That’s their damned prerogative,

And its legal - by the book.

You’ve got no leg to stand on.

Your fucking rights are zero,

And walking around filming this shit

Does not make you a hero.

It makes you dumb and ignorant

And fucking arrogant too.

Your stupid antics towards the staff

Are better placed in a zoo.

Like a monkey flinging shit,

You spit out meaningless words.

If you’re spraying unmasked spittle

Then you may as well throw turds.

Should you yield in this great mask debate?

Why join the great lawful throng?

Because science says it could save people, Karen!

… Just put the fucking mask on.


	3. Allfather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Ode to Odin. For Everything.

Nine days and nights you hung,

Suffering and sacrificing self to self.

Screaming, you took up the runes

For the wisdom.

Saving self from self.

Wandering alongside the lost,

Who’s clawing fingers grab and snatch at peace.

Whispering in the ears of those who seek.

Freeing predators caught in the trapper’s steel.

The wolves, bears and boar

Listen for the sound of your eight-legged steed

And the shaking of your spear.

For even the mightiest creature can be brought down

By the will of a hunter.

Trapped!

Great wanderer!

Save me!

Each time I have called,

You gave me an answer,

Even those I was not willing to hear.

You do not condemn me, but set me free

From shackles others can only dream to slip.

Where the deer smells death,

The wolf smells life,

Both being what their purpose requires.

Whatever purpose you have in mind for me,

(The unrevealed path)

I will walk it.

I long to see it.

But you have not left me longing,

Attending to my need,

Bestowing generously like a courting lover.

Even in the face of my folly, you are forgiving and guide me through storms.

Even when I am weak, you call for strength and command me to stand.

Even where I doubt, you reach out and assure me things will work.

Forcing me to my feet, as you know I can do.

Who really believes in who?


	4. Walk in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For freaks, geeks, and misfits everywhere xx

Walk. Attempt to calm the mind.

Music. The sonic armour plays.

Sun caresses, warm and kind.

In gentle breeze, the treetop sways.

It strikes me most ironically,

Surrounded by suburban sprawl,

The very thing I seek to flee

Is emanating from it all.

The beige existence stretches far,

Conjured in display home hell.

Dogs and kids and fence and car,

Grinning monsters shackled well.

Like nails dragged down a fucking chalkboard.

The screeching, grating, flashing life

Of pastel pumps and coiffed, bleach curls.

The sanitised, cookie-cutter wife,

Raising hollow boys and girls.

It howls, it shakes, it fires my fears

The shit-soaked settlement spread.

Who whispered salaciously in their ears?

Why do they love the death I dread?

Obey. Smile. Just don’t resist.

The more you struggle, the more it grips.

Shiny veneer manufactured to persist.

A fetid wash of smiling lips.

I can see clearly what you really are.

Beneath the paint, beneath the grass,

Beneath the brick and mortar dream,

The crawling, shallow, shadows pass.

A glimpse, a whiff, a short-lived scream.

Duality. Woven into us all.

Opposing forces ever dualling.

They will rise and they will fall.

Choice decides which ones are ruling.

Empty though they sometimes seem,

Sometimes they tower in their might.

Should I laugh? Should I scream?

Should I stand, or take to flight?

Rotten things walk staunchly in the sunshine.

Where you see right, I see much wrong

In the false economy of oppressive rule.

The chattering, purchasing, ignorant throng.

The puppet-worked, singing, dancing, fool.

What you decry as damaged and dark,

Who you condemn as anti-social freaks:

Those tainted souls possess a spark,

When in the dark, the truth they seek.

The folk you see as hellish stains

On your neat-lawned, compliant, society?

I see angels in whom my hope remains

As they rage against your complicity.

Empathy grows in the dark places.

The comfort of an old, black shirt

Declaring love for brutal sound.

The cosy coffin, embraced in dirt.

A smooth, white skull. Cool and round.

Black on black, and blood on doom.

Death’s aesthetic in the eyes.

The calm relief of rebellion blooms

Where the toxic sickness dies.

From the shadows, it’s possible to see

Goodness and Light. They are not one.

They both work independently

To brand and mark on everyone.

Masks of light cover festering souls.

In their ‘light’ they try to ‘shine’,

Breathing evil’s noxious fume.

The gilded ones drink selfish wine,

And sup on flesh dead and exhumed.

And yet live those who walk the night,

Who crawl through life’s abysmal mire.

In them, the fire burns hot and bright.

A beacon from a funeral pyre.

The pain, the angst, the tortured soul.

The battered will, the trodden hopes.

In angry soil the good things grow,

And tears rain down on fertile slopes.

The siren song cannot penetrate our dark.


	5. Tithing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May you tithe, and tithe well...

Two lovers in the growing dark,

Eyes lock and wildly spark.

Small words of greeting exchange,

Before eyes are quickly seeking lips

And hands wrap around waiting hips

In close and warm embrace.

Revelling in lustful touch,

Soon it will become too much.

Bodies and lips reunited joyfully.

“Why don’t you follow me?...”

Alone, and finally undressed.

Their naked flesh together, pressed

In anticipation of delights ahead.

Tongues and hands in frenzied dance.

Feet shuffle, thoughtlessly entranced

Towards the waiting expanse of bed.

As their urge begins to peak,

One of them must finally speak

To express the most pressing need.

“Now, it’s time to feed… “

Hands feeling, wanting skin,

Soon the work of mouths begin,

And the feasting brings such fantastic cries.

Both intense like burning heat,

And thirsty for the slaking sweet.

It grows as fast as it is satisfied.

But now comes time for holy tithing.

The sacred, sensual, sexual writhing,

Giving thanks for love and life and light.

“I’ve been waiting for tonight…”

The glory of the sacrament.

The intensity of their intent,

Manifest in the rocking of lithe hips.

Skin that feels the others breath,

Moaning as though quite bereft

Of opportunities to sing praises from lips.

In their union, fully symbolised

Is duality. And in their eyes

Each sees the heavens that they both desire

“You set my soul on fire...”

There’s no reality anymore,

When souls and minds are exposed raw,

And all the world dissolves and goes away.

The moment is all that exists.

The feeling is all that persists.

Stars wheel, and night blends into day.

Calling now unto the gods.

Flesh and souls, who were at odds

Now conjoin, and in their shuddered breath…

“The little death…”


	6. The Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To all those feeling the Hunger - may you find your sunlight.

When you walk away from me

The pain's too much to bear

As your body parts from mine,

And your fingers leave my hair

And your lips, which moments earlier

Were soft and warm and deft,

Are gone, and quicksand memories

Are all that I have left,

As they quickly sink and fade.

The pleasure once so clear

Seeps away. Like sepia,

Life dulls down to drear.

The happy little spaces

Where sun entered my heart,

Have reverted back to void.

I've circled to the start.

Walking in the shadows,

Where the dark things bloom,

Waiting for your light

To penetrate the gloom.

Sweating on connection,

And circling devotion.

Pacing around affection

And poking at emotion

Like a curious predator

Who toys cruelly with it's prey,

I want it... but I'll kill it.

There is no other way.

For the truth of the carnivorous

Is the hunger never ends,

And a predator must hunt and eat.

I'm doomed to kill again.

We all serve as nourishment,

For other's greedy hearts.

It's no wonder I am starving

Every time we are apart.


	7. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Pack Wolf’s tale of a sacrificial feast.

Sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff …

_“I SMELL FUCKING ELK!!!!!”_

Well, that’s how it all started anyway.

We were out patrolling at the close of the day,

Securing our ancestral territory,

Where we know every rock, every path, every tree.

Up ahead, Scouting Brother suddenly stops dead,

And his fur hackles up, and the ears on his head

Flatten down, as he sniffs. He is perfectly still,

Except for his nose which has scented the kill.

He looks back at Alpha…

Alpha gives us the look…

“Come on, Pack. And remember: Hunt by the book.”

We follow his lead, through the thawing snow.

Softly and swiftly and silent we go.

Running and panting, with trees on all sides.

Working hard. All around is the smell of warm hides

As the brethren make haste to secure a prize.

Our bellies are hungry. There’s death in our eyes,

And we all move as one, without making a sound.

Hungry. Determined. Covering vast ground.

Born Wolf, born hunter…

Born predatory beast…

“Fulfill your purpose, and tonight… we shall feast.”

Just the thought of the feast spurs us on to new speed,

For the bellies of wolves are resplendent with greed.

We carefully approach the edge of the clearing,

Everyone’s sniffing. Watching. Hearing

Our own ragged pants, and the occasional lick,

As we creep round the shadows where the cover is thick.

Not far ahead, in the direction we’re going,

Caught on the wind, the sounds of sweet lowing.

Alpha stops, and turns…

His eyes cold and grey…

“May the ancestors help you, if you fuck up today.”

It’s no threat. It’s a warning. We know what it means,

It’s our language of eons, written into our genes.

Hunting elk is a task, harder than it first seems.

Prey can do damage, while it bleeds and it screams.

With massive size, deadly horns, and a terrible kick,

An elk can kill wolves, and it can kill very quick.

It takes the whole Pack just to take down the beasts,

But the risk has reward, in the mother of all feasts.

We’re almost there…

We stop deadly still…

“Wait for it…

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

…Kill.”

Strike strike strike. Flank flank flank. Run run run. Fulfilling your life purpose is so much fucking fun! We’ve be seen. They’re running. I’m keen. And I’m feeling so fucking mean! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! GROOOWWWLLLL… HHHOOOOOOOooooooooowwwwwwllllll….. The death knell of our kind, which fucks with the prey’s mind. Shit! My position! Must find find find find. Back back back running with the Pack. Elk trample trample stample stample mud and slush and shit and grass is flying, and ahead I hear them crying because they know tonight they’re dying. We’ve herded one away and it’s starting to stray… Yes, this one will be our prey! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

_SNAP!!!!!!_

I didn’t listen. I fucked it up. I blew it. Here’s the proof,

In the form of a heavy, flying, deadly, kicking hoof…

_OOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!_

SSPPPLLAAAAATT

Launched into the trampled mud and slush…

The night takes on a weird, partial hush…

I hear the sound of tearing…

The elk. The Pack are sharing…

In the feast…

Well, in the least…

I served my purpose…

For though I’m happy on the surface…

Inside I’m broke and bleeding…

So, while the Pack are feeding…

I’m dying. I try to yelp…

But who would come and help?...

As my eyes turn dark, they turn towards the blackened, velvet night

And I see the shapes of ancestors, formed from pure starlight.

They’ve come to take me home, to the Great Hunt in the sky,

For my time has come, and they know that I must die.

And while the Pack will look for me with the light of dawn,

I’m never coming home. And my Pack will howl and mourn.

But if they live on, though I do not, I regret it not the least.

I gave my life so they could live…

It was a sacrificial feast.


	8. Soul Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A single, conjoined stanza. Dedicated to all the Soul Lovers: If you’re out there loving the one you’re with, thanks for making the world a better place.

Whether a lifetime, a night, or an hour,

I’m looking for one who wields the power

To light up my soul. Set my spine on fire.

Needing a being who is filled with desire

For me. Who can pare me down to the bone.

Who banishes the curse of feeling alone.

Who’s connection is so strong, it dwindles the sun.

Eclipses the sky. And when we are one,

Exposes me raw, brings me straight to my knees.

And not just with mind or with heart, if you please,

But with sensuous touch and a passionate kiss.

A conjunction of souls, causing cosmic-like bliss,

When bodies combine. It’s full penetration

To the core of your being. A blissful sensation.

Without it, I’m empty. Withered and pained,

And churning with raging heat, that’s restrained

And contained in a prison of bellowing anguish.

The strain always drains me. I falter... I languish…

I wane and I wax as I rage and despair.

The need, ever present, is waiting right there

In the shadows. So, I search for a feeling existent,

Even if fleeting, for the need is persistent.

When a great hunger grips you, it doesn’t matter

How much you can gorge, even if you get fatter

It’s never enough. Because in real time

Feasting is short, even though it’s sublime.

But waiting to eat, that’s a whole other thing…

The stabbings and pangs that starvation brings.

Most of our time is spent waiting to feed,

And little is spent executing the deed.

Human beings are made to love, and rejoice

In the things that they love, and if given a choice

We would wallow forever in sweet gluttony.

But there’s one unseen factor that’s playing a key.

When the first bite is taken, you’re clearly aware

Of the time that’s been taken, and the love and the care

That the chef has patiently put into a dish.

A love-prepared meal can fulfil every wish

And desire of the taster. It will draw out confessions

of sweet satisfactions and spicy obsessions.

If ‘Soul Food’ exists, then so must the ‘Soul Lover’.

The one who diligently cares for the other

Lover they’re with. When they revel in passion

They are quite unafraid to love in their fashion,

Even if briefly. The success of the meal

Of the sacred joined flesh, and the feeling so real,

Lies in preparing a sumptuous spread

For you partner, with whom you are sharing a bed.

Don’t hold back. Become one with each other.

Be more than a fuck. Become a Soul Lover.


	9. Search Party of One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Alpha Wolf’s tale, taking inspiration from ‘Clancy of the Overflow’ by Banjo Patterson.

I need to find my pack, and I’ll go hell and back

Just to take my place among them, right where I belong.

We were hunting when a bear sent us running everywhere.

The stinking, thieving bastard. He just had to come along!

Not that it much mattered, but a thought struck as we scattered

That there wasn’t that much meat left on the carcass of the deer.

But I startled like a pup, and ran without much looking up,

And now I’ve lost the scent of brethren, and nothing can I hear.

There’s not a fucking trace. I can’t go back to the place

Where the bear first attacked us, ‘cause the prick just might come back.

It looks like I’ve no choice, because they cannot hear my voice

When I howl. So, now it’s time for me to do my job and track.

It’s what I’m born to do, so to catch up with my crew,

I’ll find their waning, cooling scent embedded in the ground.

As I follow instinct pressing, in my mind I’m still distressing.

All I hear is my own panting and there is no other sound.

Vivid recollections, of my famine of affections

Strike me now, as my Omega days come rushing back to life.

I was young, and taken back, when sent away from my Den Pack

And I faced the years of struggle, marked by hunger and by strife.

I developed skills and habits, not the least was catching rabbits.

They kept me fed and living, but they taste of skin and bone.

But the worst was the cold nights. Watchful. Full of frights.

No body heat to share in, and completely on my own.

Those times were bloody tough, although I couldn’t get enough

Of scented summer days, filled long with playing and endeavour.

Yet still no company, until one time, I did see

A She Wolf who would faithfully stay by my side forever.

It was a turning point that day, for to Pack is our Old Way,

And the happiness of bonding is a joy beyond compare.

Because the ecstasy of living, is in the act of giving

To each other. For wolves know what it truly is to share.

When life is stripped down bare of the pomp and the fanfare

That wretched creatures suffer through while trapped inside cold cages,

And your needs are always dire, you fight not to expire.

Your will to live is strong and your survival instinct rages.

In the wild, the danger’s real, and everything you feel

Is amplified by chemistry and hormones in your brain,

As you stand your ground and fight, or turn your tail to flight.

Emotions in the wild are bright, like rainbows in the rain.

The same applies to feeding, and the pleasure that you’re heeding

In your heart is manifesting from the gorging of hot meat.

If the hunting is dramatic, then the feasting’s more ecstatic,

And the thrill felt in the kill is always oh-so sweet.

But the truth of wolfly life, is that happiness and strife

Are always better felt when unified and with the pack.

When we are all sharing in our moments, and are caring

For each other, there is not a force alive to hold us back.

This is why I’m pleading that the ancestors are heeding

My call to bring me home. I’m desperate to find

The way to take me hence, and I’m hating the suspense

Of not knowing whether I will ever be with my own kind.

It’s hunting, but it’s not. It’s all I’ve really got…

To blindly search and stumble in the hope that I’ll succeed.

Because of all the lofty blessings, there is none which is so pressing

As finding peace among your pack. It’s all you really need.

It turns out my direction, needed little in correction,

Because now I’m picking up the scent of wolves. I smell our breed.

And I must not fail my duty, as their Alpha. For the beauty

In leadership is serving those who you are charged to lead.

The skills which I am using, get passed on. Not of my choosing,

But it is my responsibility to see the task is done.

To patrol my territory, and defend it to the glory

Of death, if required. But I shall see our battles won.

I lead them on each mission, to kill with pure ambition,

and with care and thought and strategy, to ensure we see the meal…

But… my pack are getting near, small snippets can I hear.

They’re close, and I’m ecstatic... the fear was very real.

I see the standing guard, and he’s looking. Listening hard.

He growls out the signal, and I hurry down the track.

They hear of my survival, and announcing my arrival

Howl as one “Thank the ancestors! Alpha’s finally back!”


	10. Donar in Repose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Thor and his oak-like strength

Softly he came, although giant he be,

Devoid of the symbols of mythology,

Save for the oak leaves which ran round his head,

Green against his long hair, gold and red.

With his red beard in flow, and his eyes like the sky,

Rich blue, like the days when summer is high.

Naked he was, and quite unashamed

Of his form, for his spirit cannot be tamed.

His heart is mighty, golden and vast,

His will is rock-solid, and his loving is fast

And strong like his body. His honour complete.

His bravery and courage can perform any feat.

But his true strength lies in his desire to protect.

The ills on the weak, he will try to correct

As he battles his foes, but he is more than the lightning.

For in his great arms, nothing feels frightening.

Love, pure and simple, he holds for his folk,

And while tales of his glory will always provoke

Those images trope, of hammer and belt,

In his love and protection the real joy is felt.

So, in this fashion I called for his grace,

And thought long and hard on his beautiful face.

Like the rising sun, which warms and assures,

He held me and loved me in spite of my flaws.

"Little Avens. My Dryas. Why do you weep?

Why do fret and toss in your sleep?

What troubles you so? Why call out to me,

And not to my father? What can I not see?"

"I'm afraid…"

"Of what?"

"Of the world - unwieldy, unkind, and untrue.

Of the men of the world - they are nothing like you.

Of the schemes of the evil, and words of the wicked.

Of the end of the world, as it has been predicted."

"Why do you hunger, when you've already eaten?

Why do you fear what you've already beaten?

Have you forgotten the tundra? The ice and the snow?

Have you forgotten the Spring? How to flourish and grow?"

"No…"

"Then what?"

"Your father sets challenges, lonely and questing,

And in matters of wisdom, we all need this testing.

He rides off and leaves you to figure it out,

Because struggle is what higher thought is about.

For the mind, we sacrifice self-unto-self.

When chasing great knowledge, suffering is wealth.

But I cannot see how this applies to the heart?

I'm lost and alone, so please don't depart!"

"Easy, now! The Arctic wolf, snow white,

Is sturdy and hardy, and fit for the fight!

Come Spring, she will see life bloom all anew.

One day, your Spring shall come round to you…

So wait…"

"But what...?"

"What should you do? When will you know?

The wolf commands neither sun or the snow.

She waits patiently, using smell and good sight,

And watches as days take over from night."

"Right…"

"Now what?...

I know how you think, and I feel your fear.

Granted, the world which you see and you hear

Is scary and cold, but it has always been so,

Just as the Dryas has sprung from the snow.

Now…

Off you go…

And grow…"


	11. Altruism Dies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altruism, like liberty, dies to thunderous applause.

Migrating thickly in the waxing night,

From flickering electric light to light,

Buzzing insects crawl o’er the grass.

Grinding teeth, the shuffling workers pass,

Pushing each to each towards their home.

Soon laid out flat, pressed and prone

Like fashionable suits do in the morn’

Lay spread on the bed shortly after dawn.

Repeat again, the wearying competition

Among stabbing words, and vile suspicion.

Politicking sickly over black-heart brew.

Gnawing bone, and flesh and tough sinew.

Cannibalist acts of dog-eat-dog.

Pheromone and blood sprayed thick like fog.

Scent the weak, kind, bleeding heart.

Exposed vulnerability makes it start.

Ripping and tearing, shrieks fill the air,

Predating on worldly thought, and good care.

None who shy from greed can survive.

Free-fall from grace just to stay alive.

Drive the caring souls out from the game,

Seize and squeeze it in your own name.

Choke altruism ‘til it shudders dead.

Success and fortune run on rivers red.

No other species kills with such desire,

Or stares ecstatic at the funeral pyre.

Love, our pure maiden, thrives no more,

Lying raped and bleeding on the cold, hard floor.

Too weak to rise, or fend off her foe,

Leaving all who worship her sunken in woe.

No warriors come to raise sword and shield.

No soldiers cry out her name on the field.

Wrathful screeching now fills the air.

Humanity forgot what it was to care.

Jostling for position and scraps of power.

Expectation of reward for each hour,

Each deed, and each and every last day.

Nothing is given. We are all sold for pay.

Praise falls from lips for acts of greed,

And curl with sneers at those in most need.

To succeed means 'Kill the next man dead,

Tread on all toes, and kick in each head'.

Flashing wealth amassed will draw in the gaze,

Only self-driven acts will win any praise.

No one will give, where there is no reward.

No one will give, and lift high the sword.

Hearts, broken few, in hiding will cry

Watching our altruism bleed out and die.


End file.
